A Boy Without a Plan

I screeched to a stop on a street somewhere on the edge of town. There was an empty gas station to my right and an army of townhouses to my left.

I had nothing.

It was 3:00 am on a Wednesday in mid-January, and I had nothing but my car, my clothes and a cornucopia of indie-rock CDs. Oh, and a backpack full of textbooks. What the hell had I been thinking? But maybe that was the answer- I wasn’t.

My mom would now be home from her shift, and David would be informing her about the recent crimes of her good-for-nothing son. I was still two months away from eighteen, so maybe they’d go easy on me. But I was still a runaway, by police standards.

I had nowhere to stay. I hadn’t made any friends in the short time that I’d been here; track hadn’t started yet, and most of the kids at my school had known each other since kindergarden. It’s not easy to break into that. Even if I had, what kind of mom or dad would-

That was it.

I started the car again and drove with hope and worry in the passenger seat.

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